"I have no daughter, I have no daughter, No daughter but one have I; And she so sorely longing For a young swain doth lie.

"For a young swain whom she has never seen My daughter longing lies; The swain he hight is Swaigder, So far his fame it hies."

In went the little serving boy, Wore a kirtle white to see: "If thou dost long for Swaigder, Know that hither come is he."

In then came the lovely maid, In white silk clad was she: "Now welcome, welcome my dearest heart, Young Swaigder, welcome be!"

"Wilt thou consent baptized to be, And the Christian faith receive, And follow me to Denmark With young Swaigder to live?"

"Willingly I baptized will be, Will the Christian faith receive; And will follow thee to Denmark, Young Swaigder, with thee to live."

On a Thursday she baptized was, She the Christian faith received; On a Sunday they their bridal held, And ever in peace they lived.

They kept their bridal feast for a day, They kept the same for nine; And there sat waiting the ancient man, And through all of them did pine.

Be thanks to brave young Swaigder, He kept so well his word; A Knight he made of that ancient man, Set him highest at the board.

Now joyful is young Swaigder, His trouble all has fled; He King became upon that land, She Queen, when her sire was dead.

THE HAIL STORM {14}

As in Horunga haven We fed the crow and raven, I heard the tempest breaking Of demon Thorgerd's waking; Sent by the fiend in anger, With din and stunning clangor; To crush our might intended, Gigantic hail descended.

A pound the smallest pebble Did weigh, and others treble; It drifted, dealing slaughter, And blood ran out like water, Ran recking, red and horrid, From battered cheek and forehead; But, though so rudely greeted, No Jornsberg man retreated.

With anger ever sharper, Thorgerda fierce, and Yrpr, Shot lightning from each finger, Which sped and did not linger. Then sank our brave in numbers To cold, eternal slumbers; There lay the good and gallant, Renowned for warlike talent.

To bide the storm unable Our chieftain hewed his cable, And with his ship departed— We follow, broken-hearted; For in Horunga haven Our bravest feed the raven; We did our best, but no men Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen.

ROSMER MEREMAN {16}

In Denmark once a lady dwelt, Hellelil the name she bore; A castle new that lady built, It shone all Denmark o'er.

Her daughter dear was stolen away, She sought for her far and near; The more she sought the less she found, To her great distress and care.

She bid a noble ship be built, Therein gilt masts did stand; With valiant knights and courtmen bold She caused it to be manned.

Her sons she followed to the strand, With many a fond caress; For eight long years they sailed away, Enduring much distress.

For eight years had they sailed away, So long they thought the tide, When they sailed before a lofty hill, And straight to land they hied.

Then peeped the Damsel Swanelil Forth from the mountain brow: "O whence can be these stranger swains, As guests that seek us now?"

The youngest brother then replied, So ready of speech was he: "A widow's three poor sons we are, So long we've sailed the sea.

"Dame Hellelil our mother is, We were born on Denmark's ground; From us our sister stolen was, And her we have yet not found."